Future Imperfect

Brahma , the Creator has etched the destiny of all living beings on their forehead, but only an astute astrologer can read it………… (Sarvalli)

A letter from district Bhandara? Whom do I know there? Is it one of the ubiquitous chain letters in praise of Vaishno Devi or Babhuti Baba forwarded by yet another innocent victim in an attempt to escape the `wrath` of the deity. Beating the deafening drums of greed and fear, at least one such letter invariably reaches me every month. “Mr. X printed and posted so many copies of this letter in praise of this Baba and got a foreign posting… the letter in praise of this Devi was thrown away by Mr Y, as a result, he lost his leg in an accident”. How sickening! But frankly speaking, despite all my discretion, a strange, nameless fear does raise its head inside me—momentarily—each time I get one such letter. Failures and dejections have so dogged my soul…could these be due to some such carelessness…? How thankful of the Public Services Commission, who just before the cut-off age of 26, out of pure mercy , gave a lease of life to a drowning man! For, before this fortuitous appointment, for months at a stretch, the newspapers were nothing but Employment News for me and the Postman a veritable Divine Hermes!

And then, when I received the ‘Appointment Letter’, my whole being was thrown into an apoplexy as in the famous short story of Manto, “Open it”.

My fear of unknown letters is, no wonder, not unfounded.

But who is this to address me as ‘Uncle’ instead of ‘Mr. Kansal’? The fear that was oppressing me like the still darkness of the night changed into a glowing, soothing sunlight, there and then. Oh! So this was from Aditya! Aditya Narayan Satpathi, my Oriya chum of our M.A. days. But, instead of Sambhalpur, what is the rascal doing in Bhandara?

It has been over four years since I finished my masters, about the same time Satpathi leftDelhi. Anyway, let me read the letter…

“What is this? No freshening up, no brushing, no breakfast and there you are, glued to this letter. Is it going to run away? First, at least have a glass of water!” mother scolded me while handing me over a glass of water.

She was right. I had not even opened my laces. After dumping my over-sized bag on the table, I had rushed towards the fridge, which has been the traditional abode for keeping letters in the house. This was yet another weekend escapade for me from Government training at theNagpuracademy. Surprisingly, even casual leaves could not be taken without the approval of the faculty. Soma Sekhar (from Andhra Pradesh) usually had the excuse of Naxalite troubles and Gurmeet Singh( fromPunjab)had the excuse of terrorist threats for taking leave. I had the support of the perennial excuse of a bachelor: wish to take leave to ‘ see a girl ’ for marriage.

“Oh Mummy, if he is coming fromNagpurhe must have asked his girlfriend to send a telegram.” this was Mani bhabhi, in her usual brisk mode, sprinting to her bank.

As soon as I realized my folly, I recoiled and smiled at everyone and pleaded “Ma, could I get a cup of tea , please.”

By the time Ma got the hot beverage, I had already read Satpathi’s letter.

He was working in the Railways as a PWI (public works inspector) since the last 3 years. He had got married and had a two and a half year old daughter named Chandrika. He was staying in the railway quarters there. His Father-in-Law, a high ranking official in Central Railways was on deputation these days. His wife was not highly educated, just a home-maker. Satpathi wrote that he was thinking of writing to me but it got delayed for one reason or the other. Now that his wife had gone to her parent’s house for some time, he chose to write to me at my old address so that it should reach me wherever I might be. He further informed that Prashant bhai has been promoted in the Reserve Bank ofIndia. If he spends one more year in Bhandara, he can then go back to Orissa. He signed off by saying that he has spoken so much about himself, and now it was my turn to update him… about myself…my marital status… whether I ever make it to ‘D’- School…

‘D’- School means Delhi School of Economics. There is so much unforgettable about our time there. Being there was like getting passport to the most elitist club. This was the alma mater of renowned economists like Jagdish Bhagwati, Amartya Sen, Raj Krishna, Sukhmoy Chakrawarti and such stalwarts whose shadows still loom large here .Founded by V.K.R.V.Rao , modeled on The London School of Economics, this was truly an international institution.

In the beginning I was aloof and withdrawn. The studies were enormously difficult and the milieu so very alien. Everyone rattling off in English, which was still a foreign language to me, and what was worse, there was this clique culture or groupism all around. What could one do if he was from another state and alone? The sense of superiority one had breathed while entering the gates of D-School soon evaporated into massive inferiority complex .The glamour ofHinduCollege, St. Stephens, Shri Ram college and Hansraj college was such that students from all other colleges were deemed as outcasts. Lady Shri Ram also was amongst them.

When I came across Aditya in a similar predicament, a natural bond flourished between us.

“I am fromRavinshaCollege,Cuttack,” he said.

“I am fromShyamlalCollege,Delhi.” I replied.

This was about the time when Rakesh Goswami fromHinduCollegehad proudly told Mayank Ratudi from Stephens, “My father is a Professor of Sociology.”

“Who ?”

“You don’t know?”

“No”

“Professor Dinesh Goswami!”

“Does that make you less of an asshole?”

Aditya and I were sitting right behind them. Aditya and Rakesh couldn’t get the slang but could understand that Rakesh has been snubbed. As soon as the punch-line was delivered, I burst into laughter. This certainly opened up possibility of friendship with Mayank which actually did came to pass. But this episode seemed to convince us that the pristine wall of D- School, which we thought were painted by a Master, could be brushed by a rustic!

This repartee delicately helped bolster our sagging moral in no small way. As a tribute to his earthy hilly tongue Mayank was awarded the nickname “Pahadi”(the Hillman) from that day.

In that atmosphere of groupism, ‘Desis’(natives) like us had started carving out a place for themselves.

After a fortnight, I was christened “Uncle.” The setting for this was the first show of the film ‘Khalnayak’(the Villain), which we all had planned to see at Plaza.

At the bus stop, while watching the flow of oncoming traffic a young girl asked me, “Uncle, would this bus go toConnaught Place?” Before I could point out the blasphemic portion of her question, a childish “Yes,” popped out of my mouth.

The Masters were vigilant enough to take note of it

From then onwards, barring certificates, ‘Uncle’ displaced my identity of Vinay kumar kansal. It was a little inconvenient in the beginning and I kept contemplating dishing out titles such as ‘Chilam’, ‘Dhakkan’, etc to my ‘friends’ but this never materialized. Within a month or two I got damn comfortable with this sobriquet. So much so that when someone would call out “Uncle, why did you not come yesterday?” or “Uncle, stop screwing around!” I would not find anything awkward about it.

In any case, the receding hairline had already begun to make major inroads on my top!

However, Satpathi stopped calling me Vinay much long afterwards. That too on my insistence because ‘Vinnie’ at home and ‘Uncle’ at D- School had so overpowered my subconscious and personal-social identity that there was no room for ‘Vinay’. Teachers were the only exception.

One day both of were both going to Pragati Maidan to visit an exhibition and had to embark a bus fromMall Road. “Excuse me Sir, does this bus go to Pragati Maidan” Satpathi asked with his rudimentary tone.

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone,” was the tongue-in cheek answer of the conductor who was busy scribbling something on his papers. Doubling up with laughter, I handed over two rupees to the conductor while Satpathi stood there dumbstruck. When I explained the comment, upon alighting from the bus, Satpathi spat out with total irritation. “What a fucker!” Staying in our company he had been learnt the universal applicability of this word. Fool, idiot, bumpkin, all paled in comparison to this expletive. “Not a fucker, he was a Jat…and that too one from Haryana ” I explained.

On our return journey, while we were waiting for the bus, Satpathi asked with some hesitation, “Vinay, can I have a coin please…?”

I was totally taken aback! In the duration of more than a month, ever since we had been acquainted, looking at his perennial garb of a half-sleeved green shirt and his old slippers, I had some inkling of his strained resources but had not the faintest clue of the enormity of it all.

Inspite of the naked awkwardness of the scene, I slid a five rupee note into his palm. He made feeble protests of “No, no, a coin will do.” His protests had a measure of self-esteem in them but the necessity carried the day.

“Keep it,” I managed to utter before clambering hurriedly into a bus that had just arrived.

For the next couple of days, Satpathi was very awkward and conscious as if he had been stripped in front of me.

Classes at D-school would start at9.20 a.m.in the morning and extend up to lunch at 1.1.0 p.m. After3 p.m., Ratan Tata Library (popularly known as R.T.L.) had few visitors, but Satpathi was always one of them. One such day we had gone to the small roadside eatery run by Pan Singh instead of our usual rendezvous at the canteen. It was then that Satpathi opened up his life in broad details.

His family consisted of his mother and a younger sister, both of whom lived in the village. They eked out a living through manual labor, making baskets and boxes of bamboo. His father had been a landless laborer who had died when Satpathi was two. Nobody knew what had happened to him but his mother told him that his father had suffered from Polio. Their family ‘wealth’ consisted of a small hut amongst the forty-fifty huts huddled on the outskirts of the village. Satpathi too had joined until he started going to the bigger village nearby where he started attending the school located over there.

Satpathi had a distant relative Prashant bhai who motivated him in studies. His mother had told him, “Son, I will not seek your support for food, but I will not be able to support your studies.” As a result during his initial education, he had to spend more than one year in the same class. The school fees were only ten or twelve paise but even that seemed daunting.

Even after staying hungry for ten days, the month end seemed to loom ominously near. A wedding feast in the village was an occasion to eat well. There were a couple of teachers who were compassionate but when the majority of pupils were in the same boat as him, which teacher could be of any avail?

Studying till the eighth standard was the toughest period for him. Thereafter he became physically strong enough to carry out more manual work. Also, by then, due to Prashant bhai’s efforts, his fees were waived. After the ninth standard, Prashant bhai got him admitted to a school in Sambhalpur. By giving tuitions to junior students he managed to make his ends meet. He chose science in the twelfth to enable him to continue give tuitions. Prashant bhai was older to him by three or four years and had topped not only the school but also the district as well. He had joined the Reserve Bank ofIndiathe previous year after completing his M. Phil. from J.N.U. Despite being a rank holder in twelfth, it was at his suggestion that Satpathi opted for B.A. (Hons.) instead of B. Sc. When he was admitted toRavinshaCollege,Cuttack, it was Prashant bhai who familiarized Satpathi with D-School’s reputation as theMeccaof economics. “There is scarcely any Nobel Laureate in Economics who has not given a lecture or talk at the D-School ” he had informed him.

Prashant bhai himself was not in a good situation financially but he was an extremely courageous man and would inspire others as well. Satpathi not only got a fees waiver atRavinshaCollegebut also got a stipend which he enabled him to come toDelhi.

InDelhitoo, it was Prashant bhai who persuaded one of his Oriya friend residing in Gawyer Hall Hostel to let Satpathi stay with him as a guest.

Today the situation with Satpathi is that he has a roof over his head but every evening, he has to think of new ways of getting a square meal. This includes banking on his ever reliable profession: giving tuitions.

Satpathi had confided all this to me when he suddenly got up. “Vinay, I have told you everything. I am sure you will not tell anyone. I am waging a battle against my life and times. I don’t know what the outcome will be but I am determined to succeed. These are hard times for me but every dark cloud has a silver lining.”

Sensing his courage and his forthright approach, I truly felt a deep empathy with him. I had thought that my journey from my village till D-School was one full of struggle and grit but compared to Satpathi’s life, it looked so cosy and comforting.

I had taken Mani bhabhi into confidence and got a hundred rupees from her for Satpathi which she readily gave. Pahadi and Arun Nagpal had organized a stipend of two hundred and fifty rupees a month for Satpathi which was enough to meet his mess bills etc.

By the time all these issues were resolved, more than six months had already passed.

It was the end of December whenDelhi’s winter peaks. RTL was so large and spacious that in spite of having all its doors and windows closed, the readers still needed to wear two pullovers to save themselves to study. All that Satpathi had was a worn out maroon half sleeves sweater and the same old half-sleeved green shirt.

But Satpathi persevered.

Even on New Year’s day, I saw him glued to his pet seat in RTL. That was the first time I saw Jyoti Bhatnagar, bent over his seat, talking softly to him.

In the opinion of our gang, Jyoti was a class bombshell. Her figure was the classic 36-24-36. She was a sexy dusky lass with agreeable features. On top it all, she was rich. Satpathi, what a jack- pot you have hit, bastard!

However, whenever we pestered him about Jyoti, Satpathi always replied that there was nothing between the two of them.

“Are you the smartest in our group of five?” Pankaj questioned him once as though he was a ditenu.

“No. not at all”

“Then tell us what is there in you that she…?”

“What can I say? But when there is nothing between us …” was Satpathi’s usual defensive take.

We all knew there was nothing between them. Maybe there was no possibility of anything happening as well, but it was an opportunity to tease the sweet natured Satpathi. It was all a harmless fun. Satpathi probably was an ideal punching bag for all of us to get even with Jyoti’s curves.

The entire year passed by without Satpathi having asked a single question in the class or saying anything more than a fleeting “hello” to any girl. In spite of that, he was a member of our “dude” gang which was what surprised many. But this was true.

The results of M.A previous were shocking! Many of the supposed heavyweights from St. Stephens had fallen flat. Most of our gang managed to scrape by. Pahadi got a first division.

Satpathi had failed, whereas Jyoti had topped.

“Let her top for now, ultimately she will have to come under!” was Arun’s way of secreting his heart.

“Buddy, this is truly a dark tragedy,” said Pahadi.

“Don’t worry. I will fight back,” was Satpathi’s brave response to our collective expressions of regret.

I had by now totally believed in Satpathi’s bravery and fortitude. In one year’s time he had gotten acclimatized to the D-School culture. Many final year students used to repeat certain papers of M.A. (previous) so as to better their grades. Some would repeat one, while some would repeat two or three. So what if Satpathi repeated all four papers? Pahadi and Arun’s arrangements for Satpathi could also be pulled on for another year. Swearing me to secrecy, Satpathi told me that before the results were declared he had secured a B.A. tuition in the nearby Mukherjee Nagar. So, this time he would probably be able to study with greater peace of mind. True, a few things would get stalled unnecessarily. When one’s fight is against time, loss of time may imply the loss of that valuable pawn without which the end result becomes meaningless.

The effect of this failure on Satpathi was apparent. The same lecture hall, the tables and chairs, the teachers….all of which seemed like a sweet tonic the previous year were worse than bitter medicine now. But he was focused. It was a fait-accompli that those who studied at the D-School could reach the highest echelons of the Civil Services, academics or research. For a D-School-ite, life became a cakewalk. And all this only when the graduate did not wish to pursue further studies abroad. To achieve this students have to undergo the grueling of D-School, much like the gold that acquires purity after passing through fire.

Satpathi knew all this as much as the next person. That is why as soon as the term started Satpathi started his studying sessions in RTL. Through our whispered conversations I came to know that Jyoti had given her last year’s notes to him. And had given him the promise to help and support in every way.

“Support in every way?” Arun dragged the words a full mile.

“Oh, come on” Satpathi replied, blushing.

“It is precisely these graces of yours that must have won her heart,” I punched.

The RTL had become the safest bet to meet Satpathi. During class times, he would be in his class and we in ours. No one had the guts to bunk any professor’s lectures since doing so would mean spending at least an entire day submerged in text books and journals and yet not quite getting it.

But along with all the hard work and dedication we could clearly see that we were at the right place. And that kept our spirits high.

Satpathi , however, did appear subdued and troubled.

“This batch of students is not like ours,” he declared after one month.

Even after being left behind, he continued to club himself with the rest of our gang.

“All batches are similar Aditya. The Law of Averages operates everywhere. There are always minor variations, that’s all”

“No, the variations are major,” Satpathi remained firm.

“Yes, one major variation is that there is no hot cake like Jyoti in this batch,” Pahadi teased while sipping his tea.

“You guys always go on the wrong track, “Satpathi fumed.

“No buddy, I was just kidding,” Pahadi immediately recanted.

“Yaar, what do you have to do with the whole batch. You just have to study. Isn’t? we are always there….” Arun intervened gently.

“That I know,” Satpathi answered in resignation.

Later, Arun told Pahadi not to tease Satpathi about Jyoti as this makes him a little too touchy. And anyway, come on guys, what could be common between a royalty and a commoner?

The university was having Dushehra break and I was about to enter D-School to go to RTL when I was hailed by a voice from Pan Singh’s tea shop, “Uncle!” This was Satpathi. In my entire recollection this was the first time he had addressed me as ‘Uncle’. We had discussed this just two days ago.

“Would you like to have some tea?” he asked, beckoning with his thumb held near his mouth.

“Ok, Lets have,” I replied.

The tea was almost done when I noticed that Satpathi was trying to say something but was not able to.

“Anything special?” apprehending something I just managed to utter something.

“It is something important, but I am wondering whether I should ask?”

At this point, I became stern, “Come on now, out with it. What is the matter?” I asked.

His troubled visor darkened. Or, may be it got more intensified.

I too became speechless. Waiting to hear what the matter was.

“I just received a letter from my village,” he started with obvious difficulty.

“What is it about?”

“There was a fire…in the village…many houses were gutted…including ours…Mother has written that either I should return or send some money.”

“…”

“…”

“Uncle, can you help?” he ventured in a pathetic way, while pushing his toenail into the ground, and looking everywhere but at me.

“Why not dear… But buddy you know my situation also…Rs.50-100 is my limit,” I said sympathetically yet clearly.

“That would be sufficient,” he said taking out from his packet a paper with a list of 20-25 donors-to-be.

“The list begins with you,” he said in a matter-of- fact voice. Pahadi, Arun and Pankaj were also there in the list. So was Jyoti, albeit way down. The list seemed to be the labour of an agonizing night.

A few days later, as soon as I got the chance, in Satpathi’s absence, I raised the issue with our gang of four. Pahadi became livid after hearing it patiently.

“Uncle, you do whatever you want. We are not going to dish out a single penny,” Pahadi said with brute finality in his tone.

“His house in the village has been destroyed by fire,” I added, more by way of an expression of my feelings than in an effort to pacify Pahadi.

“So what ?”

“What do you mean ‘So what?’ Satpathi has been our friend” I was resolute.

“Its only because of our friendship that we have been helping him till now. Though you have not told me, I know that you too have been helping him. That is so good of you. But now he is taking us for a ride. …we also have our limitations….” Pahadi blared.

It was as if I was stuck in quicksand. My intentions were noble but Pahadi also had a point. Strangely enough, Pahadi’s statement “Who knows what is the story about fire?’ did not seem far-fetched to me.

We decided not to discuss this issue further. For a few days, Satpathi was not seen in D-School. Then, once he resumed attending, aside from a few small clarifications, we did not broach this issue at all.

It was a February evening, in the first half of the last decade of the century. D-school had hosted a lecture of American economist John Kenneth Galbraith. We had laughed our hearts out that day. Some 8-10 of us were sitting in a corner, sipping tea and making small talks about the lecture.

“Galbraith should stop lecturing now” opined a young voice.

“Why?”

“The old geezer has nothing new to say…tell me about any of the article, of any worth , that the oldie has penned after his “Affluent Society”.
“See, he used to talk about the coming together of Socialism and Capitalism…the Great Theory of Convergence… and just see what is happening today?”

“Dear theory is theory. It can go wrong”

“That’s the problem. Our economists of today have developed “The game Theory”, this theory, that theory and stopped. They don’t bother about applicability to real life. All the theories are based on airy hypotheses.”

“To some extent even our Mahalonobis…”

“How can you compare a theorist like Mahalonobis with Galbraith who just patches things together?’

“Yes, Mahalonobis also. His foundation was not in the wrong. The method of putting his theories into practice which Nehru chose was.”

“That is simply your belief, not a theory”

“Think what you want. Anyway, today’s economics hardly differentiates the two. Whatever you wish to prove, simply assume it, and then use a complex web of numbers to drape it in a model.”

This was the standard practice after a lecture by a well known economist. We would indulge in casual chit-chat and evaluation. Satpathi, though not participating in them, would take full interest , nevertheless.

May be it was in these moments that he would draw the strength to bear the fateful thrashing that D-School had handed out to him. This was his liveliness.

But this year’s results once again threw us into a malestorm of shock and stupefaction. Satpathi had not passed in any of the papers. Pahadi had obtained excellent scores. Arun had scraped through with exactly 40%, but he had already made foray into the Civil Services. My results were not too good either. I could no longer fulfill my ambition of becoming a college lecturer owing to a shortfall of a percent! But maybe I would be able to get a foot-hold in research etc.

But Satpathi ? What would he do now? He was intelligent. He was equally hard-working too. Yet he was to have such a fate! After mulling over the issue for a long time, we consoled ourselves by saying that Satpathi was one of those two-three otherwise excellent students who were inexplicably bruised by D-School every year.

Poor fellow! What else could one say?

After those days, life took on a frantic pace. Pahadi left for further studies toIndianaUniversity. Arun was selected for the Manipur Cadre of the Civil Services, and Pankaj, after qualifying for three banks simultaneously, had joined State Bank ofIndia. I got a job as a research assistant in a big Institution. I used their infrastructure to the fullest in preparing for the Civil Services. And slowly, inch-by inch succeeded in making an entry therein.

I was sent toNagpurfor preliminary training.

There was no news of Satpathi after those days.

And now, this letter from district Bhandara.

What a coincidence. This meant I would actually be able to meet Satpathi. Bhandara was very close. I started feeling a sense of elation while folding the letter back. I replied fromDelhiitself. I gave him myNagpuracademy address and told him to take advantage of his being a railway-man to come and meet me as early as possible. We have so much to talk about. It would be great fun.

And he did come. On the second day of my return, he was there before me. The same enthusiasm and the same “Satpathi” brand laughter (After interacting with a few other people from Orissa, I have come to the conclusion that the origin of this laughter is their homeland!). The same dark complexion! His face was all set to gain double chin , the stomach looked ready to protrude. A look at the shoes convinced me that these were either departmental or of a cheap local make.

After the exchange of details about the developments in our respective lives, we started reminiscing about D-School and all that was associated with our days there.

“Do you happen to meet anyone of our gang?” he inquired with an intention to catch up.

“Forget meeting, now there is not even an exchange of letters with anyone. You know I have the same old address, but when the others do not write, what can you expect… Seems every one is fully immersed in his conjugal bliss.”

“Time changes everything about us…and does not even give us an inkling of what it is doing…..take me for instance….”

“Yes buddy, tell me what have you been up to since D-School”

Upon being asked, he gaze shot far into the horizon. As if he was mentally wrestling with an idea …from where he should begin… I had to goad him, “Say something… say na”

“D-school took away as much from me as it gave me. Prashant bhai had filled me with wonderful dreams of D-School and when I got admission to it, I felt elated as Tenzing must have felt on conquering theMt.Everest.

The Principal of Ravinsha College , Mr Chottaray , had congratulated me personally. I was the first pupil in the last five years to get admission in D-School. There I met wonderful friends like Pahadi, Arun, Pankaj and you… So many great yet humble teachers…and what an unpolluted yet competitive atmosphere…”

“Friends like Jyoti Bhatnagar,” I added a lighter twist to the memory of yore which was veering towards melancholy.

“Yes, even Jyoti Bhatnagar,” he said with equanimity.

This was news to me.

I had thought he would dismiss my attempt to poke humor at his expense. Not this time.

“So, was something actually there between the two of you?” Some vague suspicion of fear moved my subconscious. Jyoti was far too good for our sloven lot. But someone worse off could whisk her away, was not a comforting thought either.

“May be yes, may be not” he smiled a bit but quickly drew his smile back. “But, now as I look back, I think a lot could have occurred between us.”

“What do you mean?” I was eager to get to the bottom of the situation.

“She was a really mature, caring girl…truly mature.” he was thoughtful in his nonchalance.

“Buddy, you better come to the point. And fast.” The curiosity was getting better of me.

“When I flunked in the first year, she met me on the way and told me that the happiness she felt at standing first has been over shadowed by the sadness she felt at my failure. I was totally taken aback that a girl with whom I had hardly exchanged pleasantries could think at an emotional plain for me. She told me that she had been observing me in the group and was very impressed that despite being in the company of such uncouth friends, I had never uttered anything that was derogatory or cheap. Our other classmates also gave her a good opinion about me. You will be surprised to know that she had once called me to her house at Greater Kailash and had given me her class notes. What a mansion! It was so grand that I thought it would be better then a five star hotel. Her father had retired as a Brigadier from the Indian Army and had become a consultant to a few big corporates. Her mother was running a large textiles export company. Her only other sibling, the elder brother, had studied law in theUSAand had started working for a large firm there. At her home, Jyoti was the very opposite of her gentle, soft spoken self that she was in D-school; there she was very chirpy and vibrant. I thanked my stars for her taking such an initiative. Being close to her made the entire D-School experience worthwhile. I don’t know what she had thought when she had consoled me saying that D-School was not the end of the world, and that I could pursue law at the University after which I would be able to work with any big law firm.”

“Strongly drawn by her affections, I was in a state of emotional dilemma, when I received the news of the fire in our village. For some reasons, you guys could not help me, but I was so desperate at that time that I had to take Jyoti’s help. Without asking a single question she thrust three thousand rupees in my hand which was sufficient to deal with the crisis.”

“After that Uncle, I became less interested and more doubtful about Economics. I don’t know why but I started feeling that the equations and models of consumers, sellers and the economy that were being taught in econometrics at D-School were fundamentally flawed, erroneous and false. Behind the web of equations, I could only visualize the burning huts in my village whereas Pahadi or Jyoti could visualize the membership of the Planning Commission…and maybe both of us were right in our own way. Then what was this whole thing about?”

“I accepted that my way of thinking was fatally immature but when I placed myself and Jyoti together and compared our situations, I realized that there was something called destiny that not only determines our lives but also the prequel and sequel thereof.”

“You must have observed, with how much effort and dedication I used to study. In the second year I had also grasped a great deal about the modus-operendi of D- School, viz. write in brief, communicate in equations. But the slippery slope I was on did not let me take a breath, nor did it let me regain my balance. The result had to be the one it was.”

“What happened next?” I took a deep breath and asked as if I was listening to a fairytale.

“When Prashant bhai came to know, he was very upset. In those days he had seen advertisements of vacancies in the Central Railways. The eligibility was a minimum 50% mark in Science subjects in the twelfth standard. He made me fill in an application for the posts. At the time of the interview, he managed to get an introduction to a high-level Central Railways Officer from Orissa. For your information, he is now my father-in-law. My wife is called Mansi. He had taken up the entire marriage expenditure on himself….”

Even after he had said so much, I still got the feeling that Satpathi was holding something back. I did not say anything, waiting expectantly.

He thought for a while and then said, “I think I should not tell you this.”

He was speaking in riddles. I could not understand anything. If he did not want to tell me something, why was he setting the stage for a revelation?

“I will not press…its all up to you” I said in a matter- of- fact voice, to make him comfortable. The hostel boy had got the evening tea. I filled the solitary cup for him and got in the glass for myself. Both of us were in prayerful silence as we sipped our tea. The sound of our sipping the tea was piercing the silence that hung all around us.

“Come on, I will show you around my campus” my suggestion made an amicable exit from the situation.

We had just climbed down the stairs and started towards the library when he broke his silence and asked, “Uncle, what is your birth date?”

“Why?”

“Tell me”

“11th June. And yours?”

“20th February”

Till this point the exchange was perfectly natural. No harm in such exchange of trivia between friends.

“Whom do you consider your idol?” he further asked.

“Well, there are many, but if I have to choose one, it would have to be Mahatma Gandhi.” I answered after giving it a little but failed to grasp what he was aiming at.

“He has to be!” he said with the conviction of some divine presentiment.

“Enough buddy, stop this,” I said. I had started suspecting that his answer was nothing more than a weak attempt at some divination.

“11th June is what you had said, right? Well 1 +1 is what? 2, right? And when was Gandhiji born? 2nd October…”He answered in response to my growing irritation.

There was plenty of opportunity for me to start an argument with him right there but I was not at all inclined to do so. “Your birthday Number is also 2. Is Gandhiji not your idol as well?”

I felt proud of my ability to turn the table on him.

“Yes, it is a number 2 but because of the zero with it, everything is in a mess.”

Well now, if nothing else, he comes up with this gem! Anyway, where would he escape ultimately?

Just before the library there was a dried stream on which was a small bridge. We sat on a cleaner portion of the parapet there.

“What mess dear? Your bad days are over. You have a job, a house, a family…and if one were to think about it carefully, some problem or the other keeps cropping up all our life.” I thought I had spoken something beyond my age and experience. Instead of reacting to my answer he said, “We will talk about that later…First add up the numbers of your birth-date… 11th June 1972, right? The total is 27, which sums to 9.Right. Now take Gandhiji’s birth-date, 2nd October 1869, right? The total is what, 27 that sums to 9. Right”

I did not wish to believe him but his logic stumped me. Without any prior knowledge, he had forged a relation between Gandhiji and me, which howsoever far-fetched , did not seem totally baseless, as I had imagined it to be earlier.

“So, do you believe in astrology and other such practices?” I blurted out.

“Not just that I believe in astrology, I alsoknow it. My knowledge is very basic but others rate it a bit high.”

“Yaar , how did you get into this mess? Somebody from Delhi School Economics getting into mumbo-jumbo of astrology…what is the connection man?” I retorted teasingly.

“Maybe the connection was D-School itself. I had told you that in the second year I had been gripped by a deep despair and disillusionment with my own personal economics and the economic theories of the world as well. As you know I was giving tuitions in Mukherjee Nagar to part meet my expenses at D-School. Divyaa was the name of the girl I was teaching. Giving tuitions was exceedingly boring but I was not doing it as a hobby. Her father, Mr Dushyant Kumar had a great fascination for astrology. Every day, after I had finished teaching Divya, Dushyant Kumar and I used to have long discussions on astrology.

Today if I analyze it, whether someone would be interested in astrology or not is dictated by the horoscope of that person, but you can well say that Dushyant Kumar steered me towards astrology and it was D-School that was responsible for my coming into contact with him. He was the first person who charted my horoscope and predicted that I would get a job and get married more or less together because Venus and the Sun both were positioned in the same house in my chart. He had also indicated, mildly, that till that happened I was undergoing the period of Saturn which was not a favorable one.”

“Since then I started having faith in the pre-ordained or, what you call, destiny. In the last four years I have learnt much more. Knowledge, experience and intuition all play a very important role in astrology but I tell you one thing- Astrology is a more perfect science than economics…”

The last sentence was delivered not as a philosophical jargon but had filtered like an elixir from the alchemy of life…His eyes, voice and the entire body language was attesting to it.

This was an issue in which the new gang, which, beside me, included Soma Shekhar Reddy, Gurmeet Singh, Piyush Jain and Ashok Dahiya, showed an abiding interest. I cannot say whether it was a genuine or got generated because of the presence of an Astrologer free of charge! All the members were unmarried and were on the lookout for a ‘beautiful, fair, rich and, of course, homely’ bride for their matrimony. Evidently we were all getting desperate for an honorable exit. That is why so many roads were heading towards astrology.

And defacto , Satpathi hands down won our hearts through his mystical virtuosity. Just by knowing the place, time and date of birth, Satpathi would give detailed analysis of what had already occurred in each person’s life, significant aspects of their personalities, their mental state etc. Thereafter, with the aid of their palm-lines, he would unhesitatingly give his predictions for their future. He also made it clear that his predictions of the future may not be entirely accurate because, though astrology was a complete science it was being used with incomplete knowledge and data. For instance, the latitude and longitude of a city is taken as one set of coordinates, but in reality the city may be spread over a large area covering several variations of coordinates, etc.

Evening had set in a good while ago. He had already pronounced his ultimatum to go back. If only two of us were there, he would have left a long time ago. But as he was earning the “goodwill’ of so many officers, he was still there.

A hurried meal was gulped down in the mess. Till now he had only made general statements about people whereas everyone wanted him to discuss personal fortune, based on their providing him personal and family details. But this was possible only late at night as the entire day at the academy was infested with learning different subjects from Yoga to Computer .That too under the eagle eye of a cranky course director.

That is why Satpathi was being cajoled with ‘Yaar, hang around, why don’t you go later.’

“I will come again some day, and very shortly,” Satpathi reassured us. I sensed that the company of so many officers of a prestigious civil service was in some way soothing his ego. When he had arrived in the afternoon and embraced me in salutations, he could not resist whispering in my ears, “You have done D-School proud.” I remained silent but his disappointment of being a failure at D-School resonated inside me.

I was going to see him off to the station and we were waiting for an auto.

“Yaar, you should have stayed back for the night. What difference would it have made? We would have really had fun. Do you know, at night, B.F.s (Blue films) are also available in the hostel,” I quipped.

“No, Uncle, my reaching home at night is essential.” a low and steady voice emerged from his side.

“So, here comes the ideal father and a faithful husband…” I attempted to mock at him.

“No, Uncle, that is not the issue,” he stopped for once, just as he had stopped whilst saying something in the hostel. But spoke again after a breath.

“Do you know anything about Epilepsy?” he said in a very measured tone.

I simply looked questioningly at him as we continued to walk.

“My wife suffers from it,” he struggled to say these words.

My feet stopped abruptly. As if they had gotten numb.

‘To the Station’ I curtly pointed to the driver of an oncoming auto and got in there with him. I was totally tongue-tied. I don’t know why but I started feeling that I did not know this person at all!– a person who was my classmate at D-School and who had just spent the entire day with me.

But I soon got into the groves. Now I started getting furious at the delay caused to him my friends.

Gathering morsels of courage while trying to be as normal, I turned to face him as the rickshaw sped on. He was staring outside, biting the edge of his lips. This was undoubtedly the same issue he had stopped himself from mentioning this afternoon. May be this was the mess created by a redundant `zero`in his horoscope, I surmised.

There was still some time for the train to Bhandara to arrive at the station but I was too disturbed to speak. After several moments of an eerie, discomforting silence, my “Let’s have some tea ” elicited a “sure” from him.

Maybe he had begun to realize the huge burden that was now on my conscience. That’s why, breaking the silence he said, “She had this illness long before we got married…actually since her childhood.” I came to know when she was three months pregnant. I had been at my new job for about 6 months. It was a humid evening in the end of April. I had just returned from the tracks when, along with the clanging of kitchen utensils falling, I also heard a loud thump. I ran to see what the matter was and saw Mansi, lying face down on the floor. There was a scratch beneath one eye where she had been grazed by some sharp corner. Her whole body got stiff like a board. I held her gently and splashed water on her face. But she remained corpse-like, still, unmoving with her eyes rolled back into her skull.

“I thought she has suffered a heart attack, but her pulse was strong. In a short while saliva started frothing from her mouth and her head slunk on one side. Under some involuntary force, her body was clenching and contracting in turns. I knew that in the early days of pregnancy all women experience nausea and vomiting. I lifted her gently and put her on the bed and started wiping her face and forehead with a wet cloth. ”

I saw that Satpathi was re-living the incident through each minute detail as if he was faced with it again. When he said” her whole body stiffened like a board,” his right arm too had stiffened in demonstration.

“After about half an hour she became normal and when she found her head in my lap she looked at me with some suspicion. I smiled at her lovingly and asked “What happened?”

“This happens to me.”

“What happens?”

“I don’t know.”

Satpathi also dismissed the incident from his mind, but when he described the entire episode to the doctor at the Bhandara Railway dispensary, the doctor said, “Please call her parents, then only can we say anything about it with certainty.”

“But Doctor Saab, what has happened? What is the problem?”

“That can only be ascertained when we know the entire case history.” He snapped.

“I thought I had unnecessarily asked the doctor and this had complicated the entire matter. Except for that incident Mansi was totally normal, but when I mentioned this to my father-in law, he said, “I shall we there tomorrow.”

There was no need to re-visit the doctor since my father-in-law clearly admitted that “Mansi has been suffering these episodes every two to four months since childhood. She has Epilepsy. We have tried many cures, right from All India Institute of Medical Sciences to the naturopathy and herbal cures of the Vaids and Hakims of Haridwar. The incidence has certainly decreased but it has not disappeared. Several doctors told us that after marriage this illness sometimes abates on its own. It is not as if we kept you in the dark. We did every thing we could, but then who can fight destiny?”

When his father-in-law had told him everything clearly, Satpathi did not feel cheated or let down. He had already learnt and taught a lot about destiny in his pursuit of astrology. His whole life was a witness to this. If Mansi’s father had not helped him in his interview, dejected by D-School, he would have been rendered good for nothing. Prashant bhai had guided and helped him a lot, but after marriage, he too had become a relative stranger. Anyway, for how long he would have helped? His mother was still eking out a miserable living and raising his sister in the innocent hope that he would get a decent job.

Satpathi can not hold Mansi’s father guilty.

Satpathi was in no hurry to wind up his story even though the train had arrived at the platform. However he assured that as there were about ten minutes left for the train to depart, I should leave. Bhandara was only an hour’s journey and his house was there on the station itself. He promised to come again.

What could be closer than Bhandara andNagpur. It was really good that two of us could meet today.

Several weeks had passed since this eventful visit of Satpathi. Ever since being introduced as products ofRavinshaCollegeandShyamlalCollege, in D-School, and despite the uncertain interval of four years, he had always felt an affinity to me .A real buddy. Maybe even if he had met after a gap of twenty years, the spirit would have been the same.

I returned to my room after dropping him to the station, experiencing the quiet after the storm. As I wrapped my blanket around me, I could not help thinking about his life …gosh, what a life he is having! The cane of misfortune is so mercilessly dogging him yet he has not given up on life.

About a month and a half had passed. My group had pleaded me many times to call Satpathi again. All four of them had become ardent fans. Whatever astrological findings Satpathi revealed to them, had been also confirmed by several learned astrologers. They were more enamoured of the fact that while professional astrologers made or could make true or false predictions to earn a livelihood, this was not the case with Satpathi. He was totally free from vested interests. This was so rare in astrology.

One evening, we had just put on our shoes and shorts to go to play badminton, when Satpathi arrived. He had got his three year old daughter along. Last time I had told him that my training atNagpurwould get over in three months time. I do not know where shall I be posted there after?

We had pledged to keep in touch.

His daughter, Chandrika, was quiet and shy, finding the house of his father`s friend simply strange, as there was no ‘aunty’, kids, sofa , or T.V.

“Yaar, you have come at this hour, now you will talk about taking leaves in a short while,” I admonished him, recollecting his last visit.

“No, no, don’t worry. I am going to stay here tonight. That is why I have got my daughter with me. Some people from my village have come down to Bhandara. I needed to buy a few things from the City … that is why I thought…”

The group was obviously delighted. There was also no need to miss the evening round of badminton either.

The group took Chandrika with them and started heading towards the badminton court when Satpathi called out her loudly, in Oriya, “Don’t pester uncle.”

There was a small make-shift canteen nearby which got a bit lively only toward the evenings.

“Take care, we shall be joining you in a short while,” I told Jain.

“Oh, don’t you worry partner, all of us are not going to play at the same time.”

Once they had left Satpathi removed some papers from his soiled shoulder bag and gave them to me saying, “I have made your horoscope, here it is”

“And what does your astrology say about me?” I pretended alaughter while brewing several apprehensions within.

“The reason for you getting the things somewhat late in your life…the delay in entering the civil service, the delay in your marriage, etc is due to the fact that the Moon is conjunct with Mars in your ascendant. The Moon fulfills your desires but these are thwarted and obstructed by Mars. Luckily, the Moon is stronger. That’s why your wishes are fulfilled eventually.”

“I see.”

What else could I have said! I was prepared to listen…to know what destiny had in store for me.

“Mars is a malefic masculine planet while the moon is benefic feminine. The Moon represents the mind, and that is why you will not lack imagination, emotions and thoughts. The Moon rules the sign of Cancer. There are different permutations from it, being placed in different houses of the chart. The Moon is very powerful in the 1st, 4th, 7th and 10th houses of the horoscope. In your horoscope, have a look, three planets are placed in houses that they themselves own and in one place, in the tenth, a planet with complimentary traits is sitting. That is why you experience the benefic influence and all good things happen to you.”

“I don’t know Yaar. I feel I have never got anything without toiling for it,” I sighed, making a token dissent with his analysis.

“That is because in your twelfth house, planet Mercury is placed along with Saturn. From here the Saturn casts its aspect on the fourth and ninth houses. The fourth house decides education and company of family and the ninth house represents wealth and one’s paternal happiness. That is why now that you have left your home for this Central Service, it is unlikely that you will return to live with your family. Even if you are posted toDelhithere is a strong possibility that you will stay away, in the government quarters.”

God knows how many astrological predictions and prophesies he kept making. He would look at the paper on which he had drawn the horoscope and count something off his fingers. At times he would look at the lines on my palm and confirm his predictions. He took out an almanac from his bag as well which had the astronomical details of 100 years in the past and in the future. It also contained the exact latitude and longitude of 400-500 locations ofIndia, both big and small, as well as the time of sunrise at each place.

“Guru (master), tell me about my marriage,” I said, being driven by the fear of being pushed to the wrong side of the age.

“You will get married in a year’s time,” he said after making some calculation.

I was tempted to ask, “Guruji( My master), can this can be hastened by some trick?” Instead uttered, “And what else?”

“I have already told you that in your case good things happen to you but after some delay. Your wife-to-be will not only be beautiful, 99% chance is that she will be a working one. She will be a science graduate with two brothers. You will have children also after a delay but they will be bright ones for sure.”

I thought that he had thought a lot about me and my worries as well. I did not have the courage to believe any of his statements to be untrue.

Do you remember D-School?” I could not understand how this question slipped out in front of the horoscope that lay bare before me. May be to clear the fog of astro-talks or just to talk about the good old days with Satpathi… an exercise which still had not satiated me.

“Of course! Of course!! Inspite of the harsh disappointments and failures inflicted upon me there, I have no hesitation in saying that my time at the D-School was highest point of my life. It was there that I saw life in its ever expanding vastness and with the greatness inherent in it. I often get disturbed by the sweet memories of that time, and in fact I wrote to you also because….”

To change the direction of the conversation he had left his sentence unfinished. He moved and adjusted his position and then reclined on the wall, with his right palm joining in for support. “Uncle, to be honest, D-School still resides in my dreams, it flows in my veins. Astrology has become my religion but nothing can take D-School away from me. And you will see, that one dream of mine will be fulfilled ultimately. I have full confidence that Chandrika will graduate from D-School. I have seen this in her horoscope. Like you, she has a strong Moon in her horoscope, in the first house itself, and the Mercury is residing in the fourth house. The fourth house decides the education of an individual and Mercury is a planet that assumes the nature of the planet it is associated with– becoming a benefic with a benefic planet and a malefic with a malefic planet. That is why under the influence of the Moon it has become a benefic planet in her horoscope. Do you know she was born on a Monday as well, that is why I have named her Chandrika (Of the Moon). She has been very lucky for me. I got my arrears of the Pay Commission on her birthday. Her maternal grandfather got a deputation to IRKON the same month that she was born. Do you know, that besides our own stars, the stars of our family members also affect us. This is an undisputed fact in astrology.”

“Uncle, I have decided that she is all that I want. I will not have more children. My job is a modest one, so I will give her the best possible upbringing that I can. I don’t want her to face the horrific difficulties that I had to face….”

It had been quite some time since Chandrika had gone down. He felt anxious to see her. So we too went down. Some of the lady officers of the batch were driving joy in entertaining Chandrika with their childish antics.

After dinner the group sat down with Satpathi. Their discussions continued till about two in the morning. Chandrika had long since gone to bed.

“Papa….aaaaaah.” The shrill cry in the darkness woke me up. I fearfully reached for the switchboard and put on the light.

A strange sight met my eyes. Chandrika was clinging to Satpathi’s chest in a terribly fearful state, as if a prey running for life from a predator.

“See see , there’s a pigeon, there is a pigeon sitting there,” she motioned fearfully towards the door.

“Beta, there is nothing there, nothing at all, ” Satpathi comforted her while patting her back and squeezing her further to his chest.

“No no, its there. See it’s sitting there,” she went berserk, without paying any attention to what he said and again huddled up near him. After staying like that for some time, she got startled again and gaspingly muttered, “See how many ants are crawling all over you, let me be down…down let me be…please,” and she started making efforts to scramble down but just when she looked down she shrieked, ” Oh no, see what a large rat is coming here to bite me.”

This went on for half an hour. Then she went to sleep in his lap. We let the light stay on in the room. When we got up in the morning she was sleeping like an angel in all her innocence.

“Has this happened before?” I asked while we had tea.

“Never!” he answered with sorrowful eyes.

“Could be because she has come to a new place?v.”

“Could be”

“But we will show her to a Doctor.”

“Yes, that would be the right thing to do.”

Dr. Kulkarni made us wait outside for a long time while he examined the girl alone. We had briefed him about the developments of the previous night. Satpathi kept talking about the advantages and disadvantages of staying in a place like Bhandara. He also told me how astrology had made his office life easy. The top bossses now keep calling him to their offices. He had used a major part of the Pay Commission arrears in buying a refrigerator, the balance he has invested in the purchase of shares of the Rajlaxmi Plan of Unit Trust ofIndia.. Prashant bhai has drastically curtailed his trips toCuttack.

Chandrika had both Raj-yog and Bhadra-yog — two very auspicious and fortunate combinations in her horoscope. The Doctor was indeed taking a long time.

When Dr. Kulkarni emerged from the room both of us stood up in attention. Before we could ask him anything he turned towards us and asked, “Does anyone in Chandrika’s family have Epilepsy?”

And then what happened? … Let us leave at that.

But the visual stored in the memory—of a news clipping shown on television a few years back –started rolling on furiously.

A good 50-60 storey building inEngland, some seventy odd years old, was shown being demolished with an implosion. It was getting too expensive to maintain. The demolition technique was incredible: The entire edifice was crumbling into its very foundation …as though it was a castle of sand!

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Oma sharma, born 1963, is a noted Hindi writer. He has published six books that include two collections of short stories, namely ‘ Bhavishyadrista’(भविष्यदृष्टा ) and ‘Karobaar’(कारोबार). Besides, he is widely known in India for translating the autobiography of Stefan Zweig `The world of yesterday` in Hindi titled ‘Vo Gujra Zamaana’(वो गुजरा जमाना ). Adab Se Muthbhed, (अदब से मुठभेड़) his book by way of literary encounters with Legends like Rajendra yadav, Mannoo Bhandari, Priyamvad, Shiv murti and M F Husain has been hugely appreciated for its critical probing.

He has just published his travel diaries titled ‘Antaryatrayen :Via Vienna’( अन्तरयात्राएं: वाया वियना ) which records a long, never before attempted kind of essay about Stefan Zweig, Vienna and the cultural aspect of Austria. His soon to be published books include a collection of essays on Raymond Carver, Saul Bellow, Isaac Singer, Ken Saro Wiwa, Stefan Zweig , Balzac and Promudiya Toer (along with a piece of their art).

He is recipient of the prestigious Vijay Verma Katha Sammaan (2006), Spandan Award(2012) and Ramakant Smriti Award(2012) for his short stories.